Please
by Coasts
Summary: One small word can do so much damage and so much good.


**Author's Note: This is just a one-shot, though I suppose it could be continued. **

**I have gotten an unbelievable amount of reviews for my story _Lost,_ many asking if it'll be continued. The short answer is that it will! There have been a lot of things going on, but I'll get to it ASAP. Thanks so much for all the reviews and PMs!  
**

**Warning: Mild language.**

* * *

"Please," he whispers to himself. "Let her be okay. Please. Let them be okay."

Darrel Curtis holds his head in his hands while his son, sitting to the side of him, glances at him nervously. He knows enough to know not to say anything, but inside his head questions race like wild horses.

"Dad?" he asks tentatively.

"Yes?" His father's voice is strained, and Darry Jr. hesitates for a moment before curiosity wins out.

"What's taking Mom so long?"

"I don't know, son," he responds wearily and runs a hand through his hair.

"Okay." Darry doesn't question his father. Soda would have. But he's not here - his other brother is at his grandparents' house, oblivious to the worry that surrounds the pair at the hospital.

Hours have passed, and two more pass before a man in a stiff white coat that names the man as Monaghan walks out to join them. Immediately Darrel Curtis stands up, and vaguely, the smaller boy wonders if he will salute the doctor like they do in the movies. He doesn't. His father tenses instead, and it is the first time in his memory that Darry sees his father's face twist up in worry - a look that will, in time, become his own.

"How is she?" are the first words out of his mouth.

The man's cool demeanor melts with a smile. "Congratulations. It's a boy."

* * *

"Please," Dally snorts disbelievingly. "I'm not that stupid, Two-Bit."

"But just think of what their _faces_ would look like, Dal! It'd be priceless!"

"If you want to go and paint the cars, go ahead. It's your funeral."

Two-Bit frowns at his friend disapprovingly. "Come on, Dally, live a little!"

"Yeah," Soda's voice rings out from across the room, "live a little and die some, too!"

Dallas snorts again. "Exactly. Even Sodapop here's got the right idea."

"Only the good die young," Two-Bit says dramatically as he pours a can of blue paint into one of yellow. He looks down at it and his forehead crinkles. "Shoot. This don't look very green. Ain't blue and yellow s'posed to make green?"

"You gotta stir it first, Two-Bit," Ponyboy says patiently from his place at the table.

Mr. Curtis barks out a laugh from his spot next to his ten-year-old son. "I don't reckon he remembers that from all that time ago, Pone."

"Hey!" Keith yelps from the living room, "I ain't that old!"

"But compared to me, you're _ancient_," Ponyboy teases, even going so far as to stick his tongue out at his older friend.

"Oh, kiddo, you're gonna get it now," Two-Bit growls, but he's all bark and no bite. Ponyboy throws him a maniacal grin and bolts out the door, Two-Bit hot on his heels.

Dallas eyes the paint amusedly. "You know, I bet this paint could be put to better use than on some Socs' car."

* * *

"Please, fellas, you gotta listen ta' me! It wasn't me, I swear! It was me! Me!" Dallas laughs maniacally and Ponyboy is torn between fear and amusement. A drink had gone to two, then three, then any number in the damn world.

"Get outta here, kid," Steve hisses lowly, shoving the boy's shoulder roughly. They crouch half-hidden behind a school bench, Sodapop beside them. Still Pony's round eyes, glinting a haunting green in the moonlight, remain focused on Dally Winston's crazed form not thirty feet in front of them and the cruiser not forty.

"Aw, let 'im stay," Soda says, perhaps a bit too louder. Steve scowls at him.

"The last thing y'all need-" Steve whispers harshly "-is a police record. 'Specially him."

"We ain't gonna get caught," Pony mumbles.

His older brother laughs loudly. "Nah, but Dally is."

Steve whips his head to face his friend's. "Shut up, Soda!"

"Why? They ain't gonna hear _nothing_!"

The cops' heads turn abruptly, swiveling to meet the boys' recklessly shocked faces. "Goddammit," Steve mutters quickly, turning and rising on his heel while rolling his eyes at Sodapop. "Let's scram."

"Now?" Pony asks, half-disbelieving.

"No, in twenty- shit! Run!"

But as the three boys run, Ponyboy can't help but laugh, perhaps a bit maniacally.

* * *

"Please, Sandy," Soda begs, "tell me you're lying!"

"I ain't, Sodapop. I'm sorry." Sandy Lewis gulps painfully and starts to close the door.

"But how do you know for sure? I'd raise it no matter what, San, you know that," Soda pleads futilely. His now ex-girlfriend blinks fiercely and shakes her head.

"Look, Soda, it ain't yours. It ain't yours, okay? And I couldn't raise it with you neither, even if I'd wanted to, 'cause-" Here she chokes off and smears her eye makeup with her free hand.

"Because what?" Soda grasps at the lone straw.

"I'm going down to Florida. I'm not staying here. My parents are sending me down to live with my grandma. Hell, even they can't stand me," she adds bitterly.

Soda has stopped listening at Florida. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah. And I ain't comin' back."

There's a pause, thoughts swimming and diving and coming up for air through lips. "I'll come with you."

"No, you won't, Soda," Sandy says forcefully, her voice strained. "It's over."

"But-"

"No," the pregnant blonde says, absentmindedly touching her stomach, wondering what will happen. "Goodbye, Sodapop."

* * *

"Please," Darrel Curtis growls dangerously, his voice low and with all the control of a bronco horse waiting to buck out of the holding stall. "You expect me to believe that you didn't mean to? That you just wanted to-" his voice takes on a mocking tone "-_rough him up a bit_?"

"I swear! We didn't mean to! It's just, well, he freaked and my buddy here had a knife out a'ready, and-" And he goes down with a thud, the other following with a swift punch from Sodapop.

"We ain't gonna touch him again!" the other Social lies desperately, trying to get out from under Darry's grip, not bothering to try to retaliate. He's smart enough to know he won't be landing any hits.

"Damn right you won't," Soda snarls, and any trace of his usual good nature is gone. All he can think of is finding his younger brother lying in the alley, bloody and broken, with his eyes closed and breathing ragged and without another thought he lands a merciless punch to the Soc's jawbone.

The beating lasts a good ten minutes. Buck glances out his window towards the end and watches for a few moments before returning to his bartending without a word. He knows how it goes. All of them do. But the Socs have made a wrong move, and the payment is painful.

When it's done, the Socs back away, stumbling. Their swagger from four days ago is gone without a trace. "Fuck you," one spits as he leans against the wall.

"Shut up, David," one whispers furiously, and they slink away to their Cadillac.

"Pass the message on," Darry calls and wipes the blood on his jeans.

* * *

"Please just go away, Darry," Pony's rough voice comes from the other side of the door. "Okay?"

Darry's fist, posed to knock, goes to rest at his side for a moment. "Pone..."

"Not now, oka-" His brother's voice chokes off and Darry opens the door.

Ponyboy is sitting on the bed he and Sodapop used to share. Letters lay disarranged on the sheets, photos splashed across the pillow. Their middle brother looks blankly up at them, not seeing, and vaguely Darry thinks maybe Ponyboy isn't looking so different nowadays. He just looks at his younger brother, all seventeen years of him, and gently moves the papers aside to sit beside him.

"What if he doesn't come back, Darry?"

"He will."

"But look on the news! People are dying, soldiers, _real people_, and Soda's right over there with them! It'll wreck him and it'll wreck Steve, too. What if Steve comes back and Soda doesn't? What if he gets hurt and they can't find him and what if-"

Pony's voice bites off again as he sucks in air. "We can't think like that, Pone," Darry says softly, taking up one of the photos. Dallas frowns at the camera, Sodapop a poor imitation in the background. His mouth is twisted down but his eyes are grinning wider than his lips ever could.

"But it's the truth."

"I know," Darry admits painfully. "But it doesn't have to be. Not for us," he adds, trying to convince himself, and the words _not again_ hang in the air. He picks up another photo. Eight-year-old Steve and Soda wrestle on the ground, dirt and God-knows-what mixing into their hair. In the background, the Curtis father can be seen under the hood of the car.

"It ain't any different for us. Not ever." Ponyboy says bitterly.

Darry just looks at the letters.

* * *

"Please," Darry whispers. "Please. No."

He staggers back, stumbling against the wall. Ponyboy breaks out of his trance and lunges for the officers, who are startled but prepared. One, a taller one whose nametag says Jacobs, firmly takes the boy's arms and holds him back from tackling him. "I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice rehearsed.

The other, McCormack, touches Jacobs' shoulder lightly and Ponyboy is released from his grip. The boy crumbles and sinks onto the floor. Darry swallows painfully and nods at the military officers, who nod back respectfully and leave.

Pony buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking violently but no noise coming from him. Darry keeps his eyes on the door, which the soldiers have left half-open behind them.

"Soda," Pony whispers, brokenly, so quietly that his brother can't hear him. Suddenly he bolts out onto the porch and down the stairs as Darry stares after him, not moving.

Ponyboy runs, harder than he's ever run before, loving or wanting the pain that starts to course through his legs. It burns up and down his shins and calves and he welcomes it. He races past the movie house, Jay's, and the Dingo. He doesn't give in to the pain until the familiar smell of gasoline hits him at the same time he rounds the corner to the DX.

A sharp breath, different than the others, comes out from his mouth and he falls to the ground.

* * *

"Please don't tell me that, Ponyboy," Darry says, rubbing his forehead and tucking his grey-streaked hair behind his ear. Pony glances up at his brother, eyes hard.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes. Yes, it does," Darry says exasperatedly. "Why did you even go?" he adds, half-rhetorically.

"There's no point anymore. I'm already failing half my classes," Pony says bitterly.

"And that attitude ain't gonna help you pass," Darry snaps, temper lashing. His brother glares at him, responding to his older brother's anger with his own.

"Would you just stop getting on my ass about it? _It doesn't matter_," Pony repeats, voice harsh.

"Yes, it does, Ponyboy! College is the only way you'll ever get out of this damn place!"

Pony throws his hands up. "Fine. Whatever. I don't care."

Darrel Curtis stands up and faces his brother, both of their faces set and mouths in matching flat lines. "Ponyboy Michael, you need to pass those classes. I'm not letting you stay here, and don't tell me you don't care. _I_ don't care if you don't care. You're going back."

"No, I'm not, Darry!" Pony explodes. "I can't!"

"Why the hell not?" Ponyboy pauses and Darrel fights the urge to punch his brother. "Why can't you go back?"

Finally Pony explodes. "_Because of Soda!_"

They both fall silent. Darry backs off as Pony breathes heavily and wipes his face with his hands. Tentatively -he has never been good at this stuff; that was Sodapop's job- he reaches out to his brother. But Ponyboy flinches back. His expression melts and he jams his hands in his pockets.

"I'll go back if you want me to," he says softly after a long pause. He looks his brother in the eyes, no longer bitter or seething but rather vulnerable.

"Okay," Darry agrees, quietly. He wonders what his brother meant but doesn't ask.

* * *

"Please, Kim. Do it for my worry lines."

"You're ridiculous. I don't know why you want me to quit so bad."

"Because you're a seventeen-year old girl working in Tulsa. At a bar. In Tulsa."

"I'll be fine, Keith. Stop worrying."

Two-Bit, usually known to his sister as such except in disagreements like this one, pinches his nose - one of the few things he picked up from Darry. "Look, I kinda got a lot of my plate right now, and-"

"You think you're the only one who does?"

Keith glances up sharply at his sister, irritation besting him. "And what do you have to worry about?"

"More than you think," she snorts.

He thinks for a moment. "Is it that guy Tom again?"

Kimberly Mathews switches from offense to defense quicker than a light switch. "Don't worry about it."

Two-Bit strides up to her, toe to toe and dead serious for once in his life. "Is he messing with you again? Don't lie to me, Kimberly."

She hesitates but relents, loyalty to her brother beating out the loyalty to her ex-boyfriend. "I can handle it."

He hesitates, too, but doesn't pursue it. "At least let me stay at the bar while you're working."

"I'll try to see if I can get you free drinks," she promises. Letting the argument fall to the side, she kisses her brother's cheek quickly and heads to her room. Two-Bit stands there a while longer, rubbing his forehead and wondering how Darry does it.

* * *

"Please be all right," Steve whispers, rubbing his friend's hand with his thumb. "Come on, buddy. You gotta pull through. Please."

Sodapop Curtis lays unresponsively in front of him, stomach wrapped thickly in gauze and covered in cheap hospital sheets. A few monitors beep around them - the only indicator the wounded soldier still has the spark of life in him.

Steve doesn't know of the mistaken letter sent home that says Sodapop was KIA any more than Soda himself does. All he knows is his friend was shot down by the Vietnamese during a raid and is lying in the medical ward with a gunshot to the abdomen.

Steve has been staying with his best friend off and on for two days. Since then, there's been no reponse from Sodapop, but he holds out hope. Hell, he's been praying, something he hasn't done since Mr. and Mrs. Curtis died.

_Please don't take your son now,_ Steve thinks. _We need him._

Then, suddenly, so faintly he thinks he might have imagined it, Steve feels Soda squeeze his hand back.

* * *

"Please, Pone. I thought I told you I was coming back. You can't get rid of me that easy," Sodapop teases. He holds his younger brother in his arms, rocking him slightly. Ponyboy bites the inside of his cheek, not trusting himself to speak, and instead breaks the hug.

The brothers are eye to eye now, eerily alike in looks especially now that the height difference has been evened out. Two-Bit thinks this while standing back against the wall, already having had his reunion.

Pony rubs his eyes, grinning tearily. Sodapop's mouth twists up in his signature smile. "Hey, now. No waterworks. I just got home."

Ponyboy rolls his eyes amazedly. "Soda, you're one of a kind."

"You know it, kiddo." Soda grins proudly. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the sounds of a car pulling up and boots on the porch interrupts him.

Ponyboy grins excitedly, anticipating his oldest brother seeing Soda as much as his other brothers are. Darry isn't halfway through the door when his brother's voice rings out.

"Hey, Darry, guess who's home?"

* * *

"Please don't tell me there's another wedding," Two-Bit groans jokingly as he rounds the corner to see Sodapop and Ponyboy sitting on the couch and grinning like maniacs.

"Sorry, buddy, but..." Soda trails off, elbowing his kid brother playfully.

Two-Bit stops abruptly, mouth agape. "I was kidding. I was _kidding_! Wait, are you serious?"

Ponyboy nods, but Soda's the one to speak. "He asked her last night, but _apparently_ it wasn't important enough to call us and tell us."

Pony laughs, the sound ringing in the room a bit giddily. "Yeah, Laurie said yes. I dunno when it's gonna be, but she and her girlfriends have probably planned the whole thing out already."

"Glory hallelujah, kid. I can't even call you kid anymore." He pauses. "Ha. Yeah, I still will. But jeeze, couldn't you have given us some warning or something?"

"I wasn't even planning on it myself. But, you know, it was nice out, and..."

"The time was right? Was the moon shining as you laid in a field of roses and read poems to each other?" Two-Bit asks, teasing Pony and smiling wickedly when his face flushed red. "I can still embarass you after five years, huh, _kid_?"

"It's been nine years," he corrects. "But yeah, I guess you can."

* * *

"Please let her be okay. Let them be okay," Ponyboy mumbles to himself. Soda glances over at his brother and swings an arm around his shoulder.

"She'll be okay, Pone. Laurie's a tough girl, and with your stubbornness there ain't no way your kid ain't gonna be a fighter."

"That didn't make any sense," Pony points out, temporarily distracted.

Soda shrugs. "It's too late to be making sense. What time is it, anyway?"

"Four thirty-six in the morning. It's been five hours," he adds as an afterthought.

"They'll be fine," Soda repeats.

Two hours later, the doctor emerges from the room. Blood slicks his gloves as he throws them away hastily, seeing Ponyboy's eyes dart to them immediately. His face pales as he stands up to face the doctor.

"Is she okay?" he demands.

The man smiles, his wrinkles creasing together. "Your wife is fine."

Sodapop stands up as well, hand on his brother's shoulder. "What about the baby...?"

Dr. Monaghan turns to Pony. "Congratulations. It's a boy."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed. Don't forget to review!**


End file.
